


The Elf Maid and the Wicked Baron

by Grondfic



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grondfic/pseuds/Grondfic
Summary: A song of a horrendous mis-match; taking place at various points over the course of a Celtic year.
Relationships: Elf Maid/Wicked Baron
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	The Elf Maid and the Wicked Baron

**Author's Note:**

> This tale is dedicated to the memory of two of its inspirations - 
> 
> The actor **Robert Addie** , who played Guy of Gisburne in _Robin of Sherwood_ , and who is the the inspiration for my (anti-)hero.
> 
> The traditional singer and genius songwriter **Peter Bellamy** , whose song (from _The Transports_ folk-opera) _Humane Turnkey_ provided me with a guiding tune, and the verse-form.

I noticed you at Samhain when the wolves were on the run,  
And the nights were growing longer as they swallowed up the sun.  
You were drunkard, lecher, bully; and the Shire-domain you ran,  
But you had the finest body that I ever saw on man.

The world was dark at Yuletide when I came from ‘neath The Hill,  
As the people celebrated and obeyed the church’s will.  
Sere and ghostly in the wildwood I awaited Spring anew,  
Whilst you, within the castle, drank and whored the season through.

Your Dream began at Beltane on the evening of the day  
When you’d played at _droit de seigneur_ with the Lady of the May.  
As beside the moonlit lake you brought to bay the silver doe,  
She transformed into a woman with the Crescent on her brow.

On Summer Solstice morn you found the Nemet* of your dream,  
With its lake of crystal water and the little sparkling stream.  
And the girl beneath the may-tree your charms did not disdain.  
It was Merry-meet and Merry-part and Merry-Meet again!

But spells, like swords, are double-edged, I found it to my cost.  
As the golden Autumn wove its web I thought The Hills well lost.  
But to the world of men by Winter you returnéd from the wild;  
And next Lammas I laid at your door the little changeling child.

The spell we wove at Solstice holds me ‘till your demise,  
But you are waxing hale and strong with malice, guile and lies!  
You’ve wed some squinting heiress and begun to found your line,  
But beside the fair child grows the Tanist-Son you know is mine.

And I – bereft of kin and home – must linger ‘till you part,  
For it’s only in the stories that the Elf-Maid lacks a heart.

**Author's Note:**

> *Nemet (or nemeton) - is a Celtic sacred grove.


End file.
